


(Don't) Let Me Go

by spatialsoloist



Series: The Laws of Life [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hovering between the stages of life and death after being critically injured on a mission outside of the walls, Jean is visited by somebody very dear to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Don't) Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry that I made a sad. This is a sad. I was watching Pacific Rim and this was influenced by the exchange between Herc and Chuck near the end of the movie. Please, just kill me now; I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cried over that scene.
> 
> This might have a surprise ending, depending on whether or not you’ve read Mon Petit Soleil. If you haven’t, it’s okay, no prior knowledge is necessary! But you might find a bit of solace for your feels if you do afterwards, hue hue hue.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!

When Jean opened his eyes, he’s greeted by an endless chasm of pure, white light and what looked like a twinkling mystical cloud hovering above his head. There was no sound, no setting, just white.

 

Well, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together after that.

 

“God damn,” Jean murmured as he got up, scratching the back of his head. “Well, at least heaven ain’t that dirty. God knows how sick I am of horse crap and blood already.”

 

“This isn’t heaven.”

 

Jean shrieked and jumped a foot into the air, spinning around to see who had spoken behind him. When he saw who it was, he almost fainted again.

 

Marco.

 

The dark-haired teen looked… good, for lack of a better word. And Jean had seen Marco at his worst. His mind brought forth images of ash, dust, and blood, and he almost felt like throwing up. Instead, Jean swallowed hard and took a hesitant step forwards.

 

“…Marco?”

 

Marco smiled gently. “Jean.”

 

“ _Marco_ ,” Jean said again, his voice hitching at the end, and then he was running forwards, barreling headlong into his boyfriend.

 

“Marco, Marco, Marco,” Jean almost wailed, squeezing the other so tightly he was worried he’d crack Marco’s spine. But Marco seemed alright with that, because he hugged Jean back so fiercely that his ribs ached.

 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered. “Oh, god, Jean, I didn’t want to see you here, not like this.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jean asked, drawing back with his eyebrows furrowed. Marco’s gaze was full of despair and sadness.

 

“If you’re here, that means you’re injured. Gravely.”

 

“O-oh,” Jean said slowly. “Um, am I dead?”

 

Marco tilted his head. “No, you’re not. If you were, we wouldn’t be meeting here like this.”

 

Jean wasn’t too sure whether or not he should feel happy about the news or not. He rubbed his hands worriedly together. “Er— okay. So, where is this place then?”

 

“A bridge,” Marco replied. “Somewhere between life and death, I guess.”

 

“Were you here this whole time?”

 

“No,” Marco replied, shaking his head. “No. I was— somewhere else. I’m not sure where, but it’s not here. I felt myself being drawn to this place a little while ago, and when I came to check, I found you.”

 

“Well, I’m glad it was you who found me,” Jean said with a weak smile, one that Marco tried and failed to return. They were silent for a moment, and then Jean whispered shakily, “Marco? Can you tell me how— how did you— how did you die?”

 

“I don’t know,” Marco answered at once, quite miserably. “I don’t remember. All I know was one minute, I was fighting, and the next, I wasn’t.”

 

“Oh.” Maybe it was better that Marco didn’t know what he looked like when he died, and didn’t remember the pain of death. Jean tried to even out his breathing.

 

“You didn't see it either, then?” Marco asked suddenly. “How I died?”

 

Jean could feel his stomach turn into lead. It took him a moment to gather his answer.

 

“No,” he said quietly. “But I was the one who found you.”

 

Marco let out a pained, strangled gasp. “Oh, Jean,” he whimpered. “Oh, Jean, _no_.”

 

Jean looked away, and tears welled up in Marco’s eyes.

 

“Was it… bad?”

 

Wordlessly, Jean nodded, and the dark-haired man groaned.

 

“I’m sorry,” Marco babbled, sniffling. “Oh, Jean, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to last— I’m such a miserable person, I can’t believe fate was cruel enough to leave my body for you like that— Jean, I’m so, so _sorry_ that you had to see my body— that our future had been cut short—”

 

Those words were like hot knives piercing through his flesh, and Jean couldn’t stand them. He instantly dropped to his knees in front of Maro, and despite the dark-haired man’s protests, takes his left hand. He presses a kiss to Marco’s ring finger, gently, reverently. Tears fall steadily onto the back of his boyfriend’s hand.

 

“I would’ve married you,” Jean whispered, closing his eyes as his entire body shook with the strain of remaining composed. “I would’ve put a ring on your finger, Marco, I would’ve taken you to see the sea and the skies outside of those walls. I would’ve loved you for all that I’m worth and I would’ve given anything to hear you say yes to a new life together—”

 

“Don’t,” Marco sobbed, tears streaking down his face as he fell to his knees as well, reaching out to cup Jean’s face. “Don’t, Jean, _please_. You know what my answer would’ve been. You’ll always know my answer. It will never change.”

 

“But you’re here,” Jean choked, clutching desperately at Marco’s coat. “You’re here, and I can’t stay, and fuck, Marco, I can’t go back without you, not after this—”

 

“You will,” Marco whispered firmly, wiping at his eyes. “You can’t come with me. It’s not time yet.”

 

Hurt and despair bubbles up in the pits of Jean’s stomach; he looks up, staring in disbelief. “You’d condemn me to a lifetime without you? You’d do that to me, Marco?”

 

“No,” Marco whispered. “No, never like that. But you’re destined for greatness, Jean. Call it a dead man’s intuition. You can’t end here.”

 

“I can leave it to the others,” Jean retorted angrily, wiping at his face. “Levi and Eren are humanity’s strongest and humanity’s best hope; what do they need me for?”

 

“Because you are humanity’s greatest soldier,” Marco said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of Jean’s face. “You, Jean, are the one who will back up the strongest. You have to be their support, just like you were mine.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Jean replied, sagging helplessly. “I want to be with you, Marco.”

 

“You will be,” Marco said hurriedly. “I promise, Jean, I’ll wait for you. Until the day you’re ready to die. I’ll meet you at the gates.”

 

“The gates of heaven?” Jean asked, giving a weak and watery chuckle. “Does that really exist?”

 

At that, Marco smiled. “Of course it doesn’t,” he answered. “There’s something better than that waiting for the both of us.”

 

“Which is…?”

 

“I can’t tell you now, Jean. You’re not ready. But one day, you’ll see. And I’ll be waiting for you. And we’ll have the life you wanted, the marriage proposal you were going to make, a home by the sea and a life outside of the walls. I promise. I promise you.”

 

“You ask so much of me,” Jean whispered, but his hands were already letting go, letting Marco’s fingers slip through his. His heart ached with pain and his shoulders were heavy, as though an invisible burden had been dropped on him. He took a step backwards, and another, and another, until Marco was fading away into the mist. His boyfriend was crying hard, and Jean knew he was crying even harder, but they’d made their choice.

 

“Wait for me in the future!” Jean shouted as the mist clouded around him, and the white began to fade away to black.

 

Marco may have replied, but the roar of sound was already too loud in his ears, and the next thing he knew he was back on the battlefield, his vision hazy and several people crowded around him.

 

“He’s awake!” a jarringly loud voice hollered, and Jean groaned. Trust Eren to be the one hollering loud enough to wake the dead. Literally.

 

“Shut up, Yeager, it hurts,” Jean grunted. Eren shot him an annoyed look.

 

“Yeah, whatever, Jean. Get up, we can’t stay still for long. Levi Heichou’s gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry.”

 

“I heard you,” Jean mumbled, blindly accepting Eren's arm as he pulled himself upright. The side of his face was sticky with blood, his cloak was in absolute shreds and half of his blades were missing, but his body was functional, albeit horribly sore. Eren was shouting again, and a moment later Krista ran over with Jean’s horse in tow, a look of utter relief on her face.

 

“We thought you were gone for good!” the blonde sobbed, throwing her arms around Jean. He grunted and tried not to wince as his ribs protested painfully.

 

“You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” he managed to wheeze out. Krista, thankfully, got the message and backed off at once, offering hasty apologies. Now that he was standing upright, Jean could see the rest of his fellow trainees and Scouting Legion members hurrying over on their horses. At the front of the queue was Levi, dwarfed by his cloak and face like a thundercloud.

 

“Oi, Kirschtein, if you can stand then get your ass on a horse,” the Lance Corporal barked, drawing his own steed level with them. “You too, Yeager.”

 

“Yes sir!” Eren answered smartly, mounting his horse. Jean followed suit, with some difficulty.

 

“Where are we headed?” he panted, grabbing his reins.

 

Levi shot him a glare.

 

“Through the forest. Keep up or I’ll dump your ass.”

 

“Sir, yes sir,” Jean grumbled, urging his horse forwards as the others broke out into a swift trot as well. His wounds protested soundly and his head spun, but he was back in the war.

 

He wasn’t going to be so careless again.

 

+

 

Levi had been humanity’s strongest and Eren was humanity’s greatest hope, but Marco hadn’t been wrong about him being humanity’s greatest soldier.

 

Years from now, when Jean lay on his back, staring up at the sky, he wondered exactly how his boyfriend knew that. Was it some superior knowledge gained from the afterlife, or just Marco’s undying faith in him?

 

Either way, here he was: older, a mature man now, a real soldier who followed the footsteps of the most infamous suicidal group of idiots to have ever existed and here he was, successful in the aftermath of this war against the Titans.

 

They’d won.

 

They were alive.

 

And Jean was dying.

 

He blinked up at the sky, where streaks of orange and red from the setting sun coloured the low clouds. Dimly, as the world faded around him, Jean sent up a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.

 

_Marco, if you’re still hanging around, I expect you to uphold that promise. I want to wake up next to you, no matter what. Please, Marco._

_Please_.

 

+

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

+

 

The alarm rung shrilly, jolting Jean out of his slumber. Disoriented and dazed, he fumbled around the nightstand and knocked off his water bottle, his battered copy of _Père Goriot_ and his reading glasses before they made contact with the alarm clock. A quick slap silenced the device, and after blinking blearily for a few moments Jean could finally make out the time: 5:15 am.

 

Groaning, he fell face-first into his pillow and sighed. His head felt as though somebody had stuffed it full of cotton and his limbs were weak as twigs. He’d always had low blood pressure in the mornings, but man, this felt like a hangover. What kind of a dream had he been having?

 

A hand suddenly touched his bare back, and Jean jumped, making a confused noise in his throat.

 

“Whossat?”

 

“Shut up, Jean,” a familiar voice moaned, and the lumpy figure next to him on the queen sized bed burrowed itself further into the mattress. “Why d’you always set such an early alarm…?”

 

The memories came flooding back instantly, and just like that, the dream was pushed away into the corner of his mind. Chuckling, Jean rolled over so that he could press a kiss to his sleeping boyfriend’s forehead.

 

“I told ya, I need to get down to the docks early. The freshest seafood is always sold early.”

 

“Mhmm,” Marco mumbled, cracking open an eye and reaching out with his long arms. “Whatever. C’mere and cuddle with me, m’sleepy.”

 

Jean managed a grin and curled closer to the dark-haired man under the layers of warm blankets and between tangles of lazy limbs. “Hmm— did I ever mention how much I love waking up next to you in the mornings?”

 

“Yeah,” Marco whispered, tilting his head up to press a soft kiss to Jean’s mouth. “You say that every day, _mon soleil_.”

 

Jean smiled and snuggled deeper into the duvet. “Good,” he said quietly, tucking his chin over Marco’s head. Behind their drawn curtains, he knew that the sun was slowly rising over the city of Cannes, France, and the soon he’d have to wake up and buy fresh ingredients for his restaurant, and that Marco would have to prepare the teaching material for his classes.

 

But right now, Jean didn’t want to let go.

 

So this time, he doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I should’ve been writing my history paper instead of this. But hey, whatever.
> 
> This started sad but did end okay, I think.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!


End file.
